


Melting the Way

by bendingsignpost



Series: Tumblr Fic [33]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Snow, Snowed In, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: After a hunt in the winter cold, leaving the motel is going to take more work than usual.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Tumblr Fic [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/17495
Comments: 22
Kudos: 453





	Melting the Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ltleflrt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/gifts).



> ltleflrt said:  
> For the kissing prompt, how about location In The Snow, and reason Longing :D

“You should be fine now,” Castiel tells Sam, one hand still on his forehead. 

Hunkered down in as many blankets as the motel would provide them, Sam nods, his eyes looking much clearer. “Yeah, I feel it,” Sam agrees. “Thanks. Nothing like getting snowed into a motel with a cold.”

“Flu,” Castiel corrects, and that’s when Dean throws the motel door open. 

“This is dumb,” Dean immediately complains, but not faster than Sam yells at him. 

“Jesus, Dean, it’s freezing!”

Rolling his eyes, Dean drags the door closed. “Cas, you fix him up yet? I need a hand shoveling all this bullshit. We wait any longer, driving south won’t get us ahead of the storm.”

“Can’t shovel, have the flu,” Sam says, pulling the blankets up.

“ _Seriously_?”

“I’ll help,” Castiel volunteers. 

“No, seriously,” Dean continues. “Cas, don’t tell me you can’t cure the flu.”

“Flu,” Sam insists, now muffled.

“I’ll help,” Castiel repeats, standing from Sam’s bedside and going to Dean. 

“You’re better now!” Dean shouts at his brother, even as Castiel pushes on Dean’s shoulder and leads them both outside. 

“He had to dig up a frozen body yesterday,” Castiel reminds him, closing the door behind them. 

“Great, so he can dig up mine once I’m done here,” Dean grouses. “Because, guess what! It’s the same damn shovel. Big hunk of metal freezing through my gloves.”

Castiel rolls his eyes to the dark sky above, to the black clouds tinted grey by the motel’s yellow exterior lighting. “Give me your hands.”

Muttering about it, Dean unnecessarily pulls off his gloves, wedges them under one arm, and drops his hands into Castiel’s. Biting his already chapped lip, Dean looks to the side, at the pile of snow he’s made limited progress freeing his car from. 

Holding Dean palm to palm, Castiel folds his thumbs over the back of Dean’s hands and lets his grace extend. Frozen fingers quickly warm, and Dean hisses as spots of frostbite vanish from existence. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, jerking his hands back before Castiel can fully soothe the ache and cold in the muscles of his shoulders and back. “You know where the other shovel is. And _be careful_. You scratch Baby, I end you.”

“I have another idea,“ Castiel replies. He looks around, and across the sparsely populated motel parking lot, no one else appears to be attempting to leave, or even awake at 6:43 am on a dark winter Saturday. A snowplow has already made a circle through the lot, however, and there’s a large ridge of packed snow that needs to be dealt with. He leans in toward Dean, nevertheless feeling the urge to speak secretively. It always makes Dean more attentive. 

“What?” Dean whispers, his voice the only true sound. Even the nearby highway is muffled by the falling snow. 

“I can be very hot,” Castiel replies, already slipping out of his trench coat, and Dean pulls back so abruptly, he nearly slips. 

“Uh,” Dean says. “Okay?” He coughs despite there being nothing wrong with his lungs; Castiel checks regularly. “Not exactly sure what you slipping into something a little more comfortable is going to do to help.”

Castiel folds his coat and sets it atop the Impala’s roof, the spot already wiped relatively clear. Then, adjusting his internal temperature, he lies down on the mound of snow. 

“Cas, what kind of-” Dean stops. Stares, looking down at him as water soaks into Castiel’s clothing and a light steam rises, quickly becoming mist. “Holy shit.”

Castiel smiles and makes himself comfortable on the steadily shrinking mound.The falling snow melts instantly upon his front. 

Almost furtively, Dean approaches, holding out one gloved hand as if testing an electric stove. Castiel reaches out with one arm and Dean tentatively holds his hand out over it as Castiel continues to sink down.

“Wow. You’re really hot.” Dean steps back in the slush, some of the heat flush fading from his face. “I mean. Body-wise. I mean. You just, uh. Keep doing that.”

“I will,” Castiel promises. He closes his eyes, and only then does Dean shuffle away to resume shoveling out the Impala. 

Once it’s unlikely Dean’s looking, Castiel opens his eyes to look instead. From this position, he can still see the motel room window. The lights are off inside, but there’s a gap in the blinds that wasn’t there previously. Castiel gives Sam a pointed look. The gap in the blinds doesn’t waver. 

Eventually, Castiel sinks down all the way to the parking lot pavement. He gets up and repeats his slow but effective work on the next bit of the mound. Slush spreads out, gradually refreezing, but it should lower the bumps of snow enough to let the Impala drive over them. 

Dean toils away with a collapsible soil shovel, too heavy for the task, too conductive of cold for the weather. But still Dean works. There are no more complaints, only puffs of air and grunts of exertion as he digs heavy snow out from between the car’s tires. The care he takes would be remarkable on another human. On Dean, it’s simply commonplace. 

Castiel takes care of the snowplow’s contribution well before Dean finishes a single side of the car. When Castiel gets up, shirt and pants clinging wetly to him, perpetually steaming into the dark, Dean stares. Castiel smiles faintly in return; he must look very strange. 

“I’ll do the other side, too,” Castiel says. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, visibly pulling himself from the depths of concentration. “Yeah, thanks. That’d be... Thanks.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Castiel checks. He approaches and Dean stands stiff, holding himself in place while Castiel grips his shoulder through his jacket. Dean’s certainly cold and tired. A headache as well, growing from the lack of food and the withdrawal from—mercifully—caffeine. Castiel soothes it all, and Dean’s face goes temporarily slack at the rush of heat returning into his body. 

Cheeks flushed, Dean rolls his eyes and shrugs Castiel off. “I’m fine, Cas.”

“Yes you are,” Castiel replies, the unspoken _now_ nevertheless very loud. He turns away before Dean can attempt to gain the last word, not that this has ever stopped Dean from trying before. 

Today, however, Dean simply returns to the task at hand with nothing more than a grumbled, “Just don’t melt my car over there.”

Castiel doesn’t melt his car. He simply lies down beside it with a comfortable gap between his arm and the doors. Again, he sinks, this time even more rapidly. He thrusts an arm into the snow beneath the car, centered between the tires, but there’s reasonably little. Job done, he lies there a moment longer, letting his body cool down, listening to Dean puff with the weight of the shovel. 

Would Dean appreciate the help? Sometimes, he doesn’t. 

Still unsure, Castiel rises before the back of his shirt can freeze to the ground. Maintaining his balance by his will and grace, he walks around to the front of the car, noting how the melted snow has frozen. They might have to push the car free in neutral, but it’s essentially finished. 

Stretching his back with a groan, Dean evidently agrees. “Okay, we should be able to get the doors open and the wheels rolling. How’s it over there?”

Castiel gestures for Dean to come see. 

Shovel in hand, Dean comes around.

And promptly slips on the ice. 

“Shit!” he shouts and instinctively hurls the shovel away from the car. 

His own feet secured to the spot, Castiel catches Dean before he hits the ground. Dean grabs on in return, hands clutching freezing fabric. His face knocks against Castiel’s chest as his feet scrape across the ice. 

Getting both arms around Dean’s middle, Castiel pulls Dean up, his upper arms wedged under Dean’s armpits. Their bodies press together from chest to waist as Dean attempts to regain his balance, his feet slipping on either side of Castiel’s. 

“I’ve got you,” Castiel says. 

“Did I scratch the car?” Dean asks, squirming to look. 

“No. You missed it by six feet.”

Dean sighs and marginally relaxes, arms still wrapped around Castiel’s neck. He tries to ease back, but newer slush instantly proves a false foothold. Castiel catches him again, this time with Dean’s face against his shoulder. 

“What’d you do, Elsa? Make a skating rink?” Dean asks, still fishing around with one foot for a safe spot to stand. 

“Not intentionally.” 

“Yeah, I get that.”

While Dean steadies himself, Castiel loosens his grip. His arms drift lower to Dean’s waist, the better to guide his center of gravity. And Dean stares at him, silhouetted by the motel lights. Beyond Dean, the gap in the window blinds has vanished. 

It’s a shame. Sam would have loved to see Dean fall. 

Then Dean pulls his face away from Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel focuses entirely on something else. Perhaps in the process of falling, perhaps from the cold, Dean’s chapped lower lip has split. The dark spot of blood stands out against his otherwise pale lips, his increasingly cold face. 

Holding Dean steady, pinning Dean to him with one hand at the small of his back, Castiel raises his other hand to Dean’s face. Dean’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t jerk away as Castiel sets his thumb to the damaged lip, brushing away both blood and cut. 

Dean even holds still as Castiel warms him from the inside, flushing ever hotter. 

Castiel smiles. 

Hands fisted in the shoulders of Castiel’s shirt, Dean kisses him. 

Castiel freezes at a speed that has nothing to do with temperature. 

Dean pulls his mouth away, face and lips pale anew. Eyes wide. 

“I-” Dean says, then simply pushes himself off of Castiel, twisting to catch himself against the Impala’s hood. 

“Dean-”

“I misread things, it’s-”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel catches him by the arm and drags him back across the ice with ease. 

The motion impossibly practiced, Dean’s hands catch at Castiel’s sides. 

The motion impossibly new, Castiel kisses him back. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, to see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


End file.
